The Last Chinese Chef

Long before I was a cooker, I was a reader and a writer. I was one of those kids who had to be told not to read at the dinner table, and I was writing “novels” on my red Olivetti Valentine typewriter in fourth grade. The reading and eating experiences are paralell for me insofar as I reject “junk” in both areas of my life (most of the time).  This doesn’t mean that I am re-reading all of Shakespeare on a monthly basis, any more than I eat nothing but seared Ahi tuna and flageolets with shaved truffles. I read all of the Twilight books, I read mysteries as an escape when I am stressed, and I used to enjoy the odd Cheeto and french fry before they were banned from consumption in this life. Mostly, though, as I prefer a well-prepared meal with beautiful, whole ingredients, I prefer a well-written book with beautiful, thoughtful ideas.  After consuming either of these, I am well nourished.

I first heard about The Last Chinese Chef on “The Splendid Table,” when author Nicole Mones was interviewed by host Lynne Rosetto Kasper. I was intrigued by the discussion about “real” Chinese food, the Chinese food that we rarely see in this country, and about the emphasis on characteristics like texture for the sake of texture. Mones has spent a great deal of time in China, and is a food writer whose work often appears in “Gourmet” magazine. I knew she would know her stuff in the food department, and that her descriptions of China would probably be accurate, but until I actually read the book I didn’t know if she could really write. The book is, in some reviews, characterized as “sensuous” or “romantic,” both of which concerned me. I am certainly not anti-sensuality or anti-romance, but I do have a deep and abiding horror concerning the kind of formulaic, “Chick Lit” romances that involve improbably spunky young women who get involved in various hilarious scrapes and end up with the guy. (Or the alternative, the older wiser woman reflecting on her divorce/widowhood/eternal singleness who meets a gruff but sensitive local man after moving to Vermont to start a yarn store). Entertaining, they may be, but such books are the intellectual equivalent of generic barbecue potato chips.

I needn’t have worried. The romance in this novel is predictable only in the sense that the characters and their interactions are so true that you see a relationship developing, slowly and tentatively, as you would in your own life. There is an emphasis throughout the book on the Chinese notion of “guanxi,” the idea of family and friends being interconnected and committed to supporting each other. More than romance, this book is about love – love between spouses, love between parents and children, love for friends, and love for country and community. It is also about Chinese history before and after the Cultural Revolution, and about the ways in which the most venerable aspects of Chinese society weathered that change and went to ground, only to reappear in recent years.

Finally, the book is about food. I learned about the “real” Chinese food, from it’s importance as a communal commodity (which is why Chinese restaurants serve food “family style” rather than plating individually), about the astonishing, complex dishes that were created in Imperial China before Mao, and about the tension between the old and new influences on Chinese cuisine. Mones uses the device of excerpts from a fictitious Chinese classic entitled “The Last Chinese Chef” to dish out information about Chinese cuisine in it’s most evolved form. There are descriptions of dishes that are so vivid, and so loving that you will become possessed with the idea of finding someone who can cook such things, and there are descriptions of the relationship between food and art, particularly poetry. This is a different way of looking at food than most of us are familiar with; even the television shows and articles about fine Western chefs present a more egocentric orientation in which the chef is the object of worship and admiration. In The Last Great Chinese Chef we see food prepared to delight the consumer, or “gourmet,” not only through the taste buds and eyes, but on an intellectual level, with clever references to poetry and characters in the Chinese language. It is not about showing off what the chef can produce so that he can be venerated, it is about making a connection, forming a relationship between the person in the kitchen and the people around the table.

I was startled to see this book referred to somewhere in the interworld as a “great beach read.” I think that cheapens it’s value, and places it in a category with the bumper crop of formulaic “problem” romances and Chick Lit available at every Walgreen’s. This is, like the food prepared and described by it’s title character, a book to be savored.

Not Pretty, But It Eats Good….

In the midst of my low carb related Festival of Whining, it occurred to me that I had an ace in the hole. A few years ago, my neighbor (and friend) Melissa casually passed on a recipe for a Thai-esque peanut sauce. She recommended it as a dip for veggies, but I had also used it as a sauce for stir-fries and to dress up plain pieces of meat.  now realize that what she gave me was the key to my low-carb dreams.

Today for lunch, I cut up an assortment of vegetables from the Farmers Market, a chunk of tempeh, and stir fried it all. I added a glorious glop of Melissa’s Peanut Sauce, and it was wonderful. The sauce, with a substitution of sweetener for sugar, is extremely diabetic-friendly, and this mixture was so delicious that I didn’t even miss the rice. It’s not particularly photogenic, but then neither is ratatouille, another hideously delicious dish.

I stir-fried a handful of trimmed green beans, a baby eggplant, half a zucchini, a sliced onion and two cloves of garlic. If you have different vegetables on hand, or hate any of those mentioned, use different vegetables; if you hate tempeh, use tofu or chicken…or go vegetarian. Stir fry whatever you choose in about a tablespoon of olive oil and top with enough Peanut Sauce to coat. This is a great way to get most, if not all of your vegetable servings (along with a healthy serving of protein) in in a most un-plain, un-punitive manner.

Melissa’s Peanut Sauce

(I always double the recipe and make it in a food processor so I don’t have to cut up the ginger or the garlic).

1. 1/2 cup crunchy peanut butter (smooth works too; its just a thinner sauce)

2. 2 tablespoons soy sauce

3. 1 teaspoon white sugar (I use a packet of Equal)

4. 2 drops hot pepper sauce (like Tabasco or Frank’s)

5. 1 clove garlic, minced

6. 1 inch (app.) fresh ginger, peeled and minced

7. 1/2 cup water

Lest You Should Imagine…

…that I am enjoying all of this healthy, low-carb eating we’ve been doing, I have to confess: sometimes I feel that I am powerless in the presence of a bagel. A number of kind, well-intentioned people have mentioned that they “could never give up rice and pasta,” or that they “tried a low carb diet but couldn’t stick to it.” The thing is, either we stick to our regimen of very low carb consumption and daily exercise, or we get accustomed to giving and receiving injections of insulin. We may have to embrace the needle when we are too decrepit to exercise and burn off sufficient glucose, but for now the diet and exercise method is vastly more appealing.

That being said, sometimes, it’s just a super-colossal drag. I made a beautiful risotto tonight for my parents – creamy rice, shrimp, freshly shelled peas – and I felt guilty about tasting a grain or two of the rice to make sure it was properly cooked. Rob came into the kitchen, looked at it, and said (pathetically) “that’s not for us, is it?”

There is s sameness to our meals; a lean protein, a half a plate of vegetable matter, and a hint of carbs in the form of a fruit or a whole grain. I can arrange these items as meat in a bun with veggies, a meat and vegetable kabob with some brown rice, or even a chicken salad with a piece of melon. Vast numbers of items from my repertoire are gone: casseroles, curries, lasagnas, macaroni and cheese, scalloped potatoes, home baked breads. I have been whining about this in posts for days now, and I’m sure you all wish I would move on, but

I’m

not

done.

I have no trouble with personal discipline, and I will be able to do this for the rest of my life. So will Rob, I’m pretty sure. I have not once, in two months, gotten up in the night and eaten all of the Ritz crackers we have in the house for Sam, or eaten at a restaurant and ordered the fruit salad with a large muffin. If one of us was lactose intolerant, or had celiac disease, or even an ulcer we would have to change our diet, and millions of people do. I just have an unrealistic and somewhat egocentric notion that none of those people loved cooking like I do, and therefore none of them feel the despondency I sometimes feel at 5:00 in the afternoon when I am preparing yet another hunk of marinated meat, a salad, a second vegetable, and a teeny, tiny pile of nourishing whole grains.

My prayer to the universe is this: let me keep finding wonderful things to do with the fresh vegetables of summer, let me find recipes for things Italian, Indian, Chinese and Thai that we can eat, let me survive the Michigan winter when there is nothing fresh and local, and let me stop whining about this and move forward.

But if I find out I have six weeks to live, I’m eating French bread, gelato, pasta and Mike & Ikes all day, every day until I am placed in my chocolate-lined coffin.

Side Benefits

When carb counting is an issue because one is keeping blood sugar in a healthy range, a lot of cuisine options become fraught with peril. A whole, magnificent world of pasta becomes a thing of the past, as do Asian noodle dishes, and dishes customarily served with rice, like curries and stir-fries. A modest portion of rice or noodles is an option, but the psychological reality is that when you are already a bit bedeviled by having restrictions on your diet, it’s often necessary to have the feeling that you are “allowed” to eat hearty portions of something. The half-cup portion of rice or pasta that fits our diet just doesn’t fit the “abundance” profile. Once every couple of weeks we splurge on some Thai or Indian, but most of the time it’s a hunk o’ protein, a modest portion of carbs, and the star of our show: the side dish.

Tonight we had Italian sausages in whole grain buns, with my “Easy Caprese” salad on the side. The buns have only 21 grams of carbohydrate, and the cup of cherry tomatoes in a serving of the salad add only 5 carbs, so we can eat what feels like a very filling meal for fewer than our 30 carb limit. The “Easy Caprese” really is the easiest thing in the world: slice a cup of cherry tomatoes per person in half, and mix with a purchased 12 ounce package of marinated mozarella balls. Use the marinade in the package as a dressing. I serve it with a slotted spoon so that most of the oil drains out; you could also drain most of it from the package before mixing. It’s fresh, it’s delicious, it uses the tomatoes that are just coming into season, and it takes all of 5 minutes if you’re a skilled slicer of tomatoes. Do not underestimate the seductive charms of silky little balls of cheese balanced against the firm sweetness of ripe tomatoes and the tang of oregano and basil.

Another side that tastes decadent but fits our “rules” is a Cheesy Squash Bake. It’s the closest I get, these days, to my beloved macaroni and cheese, and it’s a good and healthy way to use some of the gross ton of zucchini that seems to appear around this time every year. I have doubled the cheese because it is low-liability for us and makes the dish really luxurious; if you are concerned about calories as well as carbs, you are welcome to use only half a cup.

Cheesy Squash Bake

(adapted from Diabetic Living’s “Our Best Diabetic Recipes”)

6 1/2 cup servings

7 net carbs per serving

1. 1 pound yellow summer squash and/or zucchini, sliced
2. 1/2 cup chopped onion
3. 1 tablespoon reduced-fat margarine (I use real butter)
4. 1 tablespoon flour
5. 1 cup reduced-fat cheddar cheese
6. 1/2 cup whole wheat bread crumbs

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. in a large saucepan, cook squash and onion in a small amount of boiling water 8-10 minutes or until tender; drain.

2. Meanwhile, in a large saucepan, melt margarine r butter over medium heat. Stir in flour. Add milk all at once; cook and stir until mixture is thickened and bubbbly. Remove from heat. Add shredded cheese, and a pinch each of salt and pepper; stir until cheese is melted. Add the drained squash mixture; toss gently to coat the vegetable mixture.

3. Coat a 1 to 1 1/2 quart baking dish with nonstick cooking spray. Spoon the squash mixture into the prepared dish, Sprinkle with bread crumbs. Bake 15 minutes or until top is golden.

Enough

Last Wednesday I traveled out of state with a group of 11-13 year olds. We were the “pilot” for a middle school program in faith-based social justice centered on the urban poor, although the organization has offered a “poverty simulation” program for high school students for several years.  I was under the impression that our trip was service oriented, and that we would be in the community doing whatever needed to be done. Mostly, I was wrong. It was a tough four days, and sometimes I was as angry as I’ve been in many years. Whether or not I agree with the contours of the program, I will say that all of us learned a great deal about what was enough, mostly in the context of food. We learned who has enough (we do), and who doesn’t (a huge percentage of the U.S. and world population).

The night of our arrival, we were tired after driving all day, and the shock of an un-air conditioned building hundreds of miles south of home was quite a shock for those of us who are delicate Northern flowers. We were ushered into a large room with a cement floor, given a bowl of plain white rice and a spoon full of beans, and a cup of water. We ate sitting on the floor. It was, calorically speaking, enough food for any one of us, but it was not what the kids were used to eating, it was prepared without benefit of seasonings, and it was edible in the way that I imagine food in prison to be edible. One eats in order to live, but there’s nothing pleasant about it.

Some of the kids refused to touch it, others ate only the rice or only the beans, and by morning, they were very hungry. We were not allowed to keep the food we had brought in the car; it was confiscated and locked away. We were also allowed no snacks. For these children from fairly affluent suburban homes, this was the beginning of “food insecurity,” of not knowing when or if you would eat again, and not knowing if what you got would be enough. In the morning we were allowed one hard boiled egg, one piece of toast and a carton of yogurt. Again, enough food from a calorie perspective, but some of our group (accustomed to a bowl of Captain Crunch or a couple of Eggos and syrup) complained bitterly about the “grossness” of the eggs, one couldn’t eat yogurt for health reasons and also hated the hard boiled eggs. It was a challenging meal, but I was still calm in the face of the lesson we were learning, confident that no well-padded kid who had eaten at McDonald’s the day before would die as the result of one day of eating light.

Around this time, the program’s leader taught a lesson centered around the “Manna from heaven” story in the Bible. In case you are not up on your Old Testament, the story is as follows: the Israelites finally got out from under Pharaoh’s thumb, and found themselves in the desert. They were hungry, there was no food, and they began to complain, whereupon Moses chatted with God who hooked them up with Manna, a food substance that appeared once a day and was apparently pretty tasty. God told Moses, who told the Israelites, that there would be enough, that they should not try to take more than they needed to be satisfied, and that it would rot if they tried to preserve it. Of course, they tried to preserve it, and it rotted. Eventually they learned that God would provide enough for everyone, every day, and they got with the program. Whether one is Biblically inclined or not, the message is a valuable one: the resources are present for everyone on earth to have enough to eat, and if no one takes more than their share, everyone gets fed.

After the much-loathed egg, toast and yogurt breakfast, we visited a local Freedom School, and went to a community center where we cleaned out a gym, including moving four couches out of the building and sweeping and mopping the floor. We were tired, we were hot, we were hungry, and when we returned to our home base we were given three small boxes of food pantry food, and told that we had to make do with it for the rest of our stay. For 16 people we had three packages of ramen noodles, three boxes of macaroni and cheese, three or four cans of beans, a couple of cans of mixed vegetables, assorted tins of potted meat, a can of Vienna sausages, three cans of tuna, three cans of fruit, a jar of peanut butter and three sleeves of Saltines. With this, sixteen people were supposed to eat two breakfasts, two lunches, and two dinners. We were also told that we were not allowed to use the oven or stove.

I was livid; this was not what we had been prepared for, and it really didn’t seem to be “enough.” I was appointed Cook, and immediately divided the available food into meals, preparing to play a very angry game of Iron Chef Poverty. Lunch was peanut butter crackers and potted meat and sausages for them as would eat such things (and most of the kids wouldn’t) and while it wasn’t haute, I knew that if it was possible to die of starvation  from eating nothing but peanut butter crackers, I would have died during law school.

By dinner I was beyond livid and into a sort of hot, sullen malevolence. On the positive side, we were being taught a lesson, and some of the kids were really “getting” the fact that this was how some people lived, including people in our own city who went to school with them. On the other hand, I was feeling that as  adults, we were responsible for the health and welfare of children who might be suburban and spoiled, but who were not guilty of anything other than the good luck of being born into families living well above the poverty line. I made dinner out of the boxed macaroni and cheese (no butter, no milk, hot tap water) and added the vegetables; I would have added the tuna to make sure everyone got some protein, but there were kids who protested that so vehemently that I thought they might use up their limited energy reserves having fits. We had our tuna on the side, along with about 1/3 cup each of the macaroni slop (pictured at the top of the post).

That night, we found that the brief dip into poverty simulation had ended. The kids received a modest portion of popcorn as an evening snack, and the next morning we were back to a hard boiled egg, half a bagel and some yogurt. Dinner was actually quite festive, and we were allowed to eat sitting at tables for the first time since our arrival. No one died of starvation, several of the kids remarked that they were surprised at how full they got eating the small portions we were given. It seemed that we had passed through the valley of the shadow as better, more sensitive people. The next day we drove home, where, after an intense period of disorientation (and a lot of crying on my part) life returned to normal.

And in the end, the question is: what did we learn? I think we all learned the lesson that everyone deserves enough to eat, that we generally have more than enough to eat, and that when one doesn’t get enough, it makes it harder to think, to work, and to be a valuable part of society. I had certainly understood before the trip that there are a shocking number of people living in poverty, but I had not personally been hungry unless it was because I was dieting to lose weight…because I had too much. It struck me, in thinking about our experience, how bizarre it is that so many Americans have to elect to starve themselves to a certain point because we can’t help outselves in the face of the bounty around us, while there are people who are enviably slender because they never get enough to eat.

On the other hand, I had a sense that our experience created guilt in the children without offering clear direction about what could be done to share the wealth. Do they have to give their food away? Should they feel awful every time they sit down to a meal that tastes good and satisfies them? Should I feel guilty because I have the option to buy organic vegetables, and fancy sea salt, and steel cut oats? To make things right on this earth is it necessary for one to renounce all pleasure because others suffer? Didn’t (fill in higher power here) provide us with the ability to cultivate and prepare delicious foods? For many folks, myself included, guilt is only a powerful motivator to the extent that I can actually do something about the source of my guilt. Otherwise, there is a Skinnerian sense of frustration and helplessness, and it is easier to bury the guilt than to dwell on it, knowing that there is no way to change things.

I wish I had those kids back, just long enough to tell them that they don’t have to feel bad about themselves; they just need to use what we learned as motivation to make some changes. We can donate food and money to local food banks, or give to organizations like Oxfam. We can grow an extra row or two in the garden and share fresh produce with families that desperately need it to lead healthy lives. We can pick up and repurpose restaurant and retail surplus, and serve at soup kitchens. We can be mindful of what we eat, and maybe even choose to give up a weekly restaurant meal or expensive cuts of meat and donate what we save to feed the hungry.

We can do all of this knowing we are not personally and individually able to redistribute the world’s food supplies, and that we are not “bad” because we are not impoverished. We are just lucky. I hope that we can do it in a way that avoids the judgements and self-righteousness that often come with “do-gooding,” and balances our guilt about our own good fortune against the understanding that we can only help others if our own oxygen masks are firmly in place. I’m not nearly done thinking about all of this, and I hope that the children who traveled with me are still thinking about what they learned. I also hope they understand that they are deserving of every birthday cake, clean bed,  full stomach and quiet night with which they are blessed.  All children are.

One Potato, Two Potatoes, THAT’S ENOUGH POTATOES!!!!

So I’ve got the hang of this carb-counting stuff; we don’t eat more than 30 grams of carbs at a meal, and often we eat less than that. The carbs we eat have to be (in my opinion as a poseur dietitian) “good” carbs, a category which includes whole grain bread, brown rice, qinoa, fruit, sweet potatoes etc.. We eschew white bread, white rice, pasta, and all cookie, chip-py, cake-y, kind of stuff. Oh, and fried things.

There is a problem with potatoes, though. I miss them terribly. I have had good results with making ersatz mashed potatoes from cauliflower, we can eat a very small baked potato, and french fries are just…gone from our consciousness, but potato salad is tough to foresake. I believe it to be an essential part of summer, along with fireflies, (sugar free) lemonade and days by the pool, but it is made out of, well, potatoes. They aren’t evil, mind you, just really high in carbohydrates.

When I found a diabetic-friendly recipe for potato salad, I was skeptical. Was it really made from potato-like chunks of extra-firm tofu, or cleverly disguised bits of Daikon radish, or was it some miserable slop involving two potatoes stretched to make twelve servings with a gallon of “lite” mayo and 6 diced red peppers? That’s the real question in considering any “dietetic ” recipe: is it just really good food that you’d eat anyway, or is it bizarre and punitive?

The answer, with this recipe anyway, is that it’s delicious. It is good enough that you could take it as a “dish to pass” at a picnic, have some yourself, and never have to say one tedious word about how low-carb it is. (No one ever suspects potatoes of fitting into that category). A half cup serving is 178 calories, with 17 grams of carbs and 3 grams of fiber for a total of 14 net carbs. That’s a tidy “one carb” serving that seems to make your plate glow with the approbation of the kitchen gods. It’s a great addition to a piece of lean, grilled meat and steamed or grilled vegetables. We have also discovered that this keeps really well in the refrigerator for a few days, so if 12 servings seems mind-boggling for your household, consider the fact that this could reappear a couple of days later with a different supporting cast.

What is summer like without potato salad? We will never need to know.

Creamy Potato Salad

(adapted from Diabetic Living’s “Best Diabetic Recipes”)

Makes 12 1/2 cup servings.

Ingredients

1. 2 1/2 pounds red potatoes (leave the skins on; there’s fiber in there!)
2. 1 cup low-fat mayonnaise
3. 8 ounces light sour cream
4. 2 tablespoons fat free milk
5. 1 teaspoon seasoned pepper
6. 3 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and chopped
7. 3/4 cup sliced green onions
8. 1/2 cup cubed, reduced-fat cheddar cheese
9. 4 slices bacon or turkey bacon crisp-cooked and crumbled
10. 1 medium avocado

1. Cut potatoes into bite sized pieces, cook in boiling water for 15-20 minutes or just until tender. Drain and cool. [Note: the original recipe has you boil them whole and then cut them up, but I find it quicker to cut them before cooking, and they cook faster that way].

2. In a very large bowl, stir together mayonnaise, sour cream, milk seasoned pepper and a pinch of salt. Gently stir in potatoes, eggs, green onions, and cheese. Cover and chill 2-24 hours. (If salad seems dry after chilling, add 1-2 tablespoons additional milk).

3. To serve, seed, peel and chop avocado, and stir into salad. Sprinkle crumbled bacon over the top.

And Now, for Something Completely Different…..

Love what is.

-Tara Branch

I have long labored under the fantastical misconception that, notwithstanding the 500 articles to the contrary, I could Make it Big with this blog if I kept at it. One day, someone would stumble upon my rapier-sharp wit, my delicious turn of phrase, my uncommon modesty, etc., and (with a decorous smack to the forehead) say “Eureka! I have found the next_________ (author, editor, columnist, XM host).” In April I wrote every single day, based on some vague combination of Puritanism and motivational sales propaganda, thinking that maybe, just maybe, that would bring in the millions of readers and the big bucks. Not so much.

If you were here before May 9th (at which time Forest Street Kitchen disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle) you may recall that I wrote about food. Cooking food, eating food, reading about food, and generally immersing myself in everything from bad food TV to fantastic recipe discoveries. I cooked and ate with gay abandon, as did my family, throwing in lots of fruits and vegetables, but scoffing (in writing) at the suggestion that people might be healthier if they consumed less, and were more careful about what they consumed. I baked (beautiful, white) bread every day, I went on a cupcake jag, I planned my two annual carrot cake bonanzas…

…and then my husband Rob, who had been diagnosed with Type II Diabetes several years ago and been controlled fairly well with oral medications blew an astonishingly, terrifyingly high blood sugar reading in preparation for fairly routine eye surgery. This is not going to turn into the Our Sad Story Blog (although it would have ample and stiff competition) so the essential news is that the doctor said “insulin,” I said “give me a month,” and everything changed. No more carrot cake, beautiful, crusty loaves of white bread fresh from the oven, or outrageously flavored and decorated cupcakes. No more bowls of pasta, no more curries on a bed of Basmati.

I studied diabetic diets and recipes, and we now eat very few carbs, none of which involve refined anything. I eat what Rob eats, because it’s easier that way, but we do have some Reese’s Puffs, Pop-Tarts and fresh strawberries in the house for the Perfectly Healthy Kid. We walk 2.5-3 miles six days a week. At the end of the “one month” Rob’s blood sugar was perfectly normal, and our doctor was overjoyed and impressed. [And I could not be prouder that this man who used to be able to eat a bag of potato chips without blinking is now a willing and eager participant in improving his health, from monitoring his carb consumption on his own to getting enthused about his daily walk/run].

That’s the good news, and it is very good, indeed. The bad news is that this was not like passing a drug test by getting a friend to give us a bottle of clean urine. (Not that I have any first-hand knowledge of that; I just watch a lot of TV). This is a life change, and although we can make exceptions and have a bowl of carbonara or Pad Thai, mostly we can’t. That’s changed the way I cook, the way I buy groceries, and has necessitated a melancholy pruning of my recipe files – I don’t really need 500 recipes for pasta dishes anymore, and I’m probably never going to make the coconut cake with lemon curd between the layers. We feel better, and we look better, and it’s a damned good thing that I can cook, because otherwise we would be doomed to nightly plates of plain meat, steamed vegetables and salad.

I noticed, looking around the interworld, that many sites devoted to diabetes or diabetic recipes proposed the preparation of food that I would not eat if it was the only food on earth. If you know the rules, you can make all kinds of interesting things with low carb content, that are spicy, interesting, and prevent that feeling that one is dietetically “damned for all time.” I am breathing the life back into Forest Street Kitchen, but it will be different – I hope the recipes will still be good enough for those of you who are on unrestricted diets, and that if you are diabetic, pre-diabetic or just concerned about healthy eating, that you will find things here that you can use to make your life better in the kitchen and at the table.

Things change, and we can either fight them or work with them. I never thought that we would have to choose between a piece of ripe fruit and a slice of whole grain bread, but it beats the hell out of staring down the barrel of diabetic complications in order to assert our right to eat whatever we choose.